


All that remains

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s to present, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Stucky - Freeform, idk what to call this mainly my rambling because bucky barnes has taken over my life, there is tic tac toe involved toward the end, this is him pining over steve for too long because hes bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and you're in love. The object of your affection and undying admiration is a skinny blonde with eyes as big and blue as the sky on a clear day and there is nothing you wouldn't do to protect him. </p><p>You would step in front of a bullet without hesitation if it meant he would survive. You would slay a thousand dragons in his name without a single regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that remains

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You're twelve years old and in love. The object of your affection and undying admiration is a skinny blonde with eyes as big and blue as the sky on a clear day and there is nothing you wouldn't do to protect him. You would step in front of a bullet without hesitation if it meant he would survive. You would slay a thousand dragons in his name without a single regret.

He has been the center of your universe since before you were even old enough to understand exactly what propelled you forward in those fights and why you felt the need to shield him from the world as if it were engrained in your DNA - as if you were born to be by his side.

When you were eight years old your mother made a comment about maybe making another friend in addition to Steve because you spent an entire day moping when he was sick and you worried. You told her then that Steve Rogers was everything and she'd looked at you with loving eyes and pulled you onto her lap. You wonder now if she knew that the future would not be kind to the two of you.

The Spring that you turned fourteen it hit you all at once when you realized you stared at Steve the way the girls in your class did when they were smitten - all dopey grin and bright eyed. That same Spring you discovered girls and learned how to charm your way into dates with the stipulation of bringing Steve along even though he was less than enthusiastic as the girls had no interest in him. You got to second base at least once - her name was Diane and she wore tight shirts and licked her lips at you when she popped her bubblegum. In your excitement you told Steve all about it when he came over to visit as he so often did and he ended up leaving early with an excuse about helping his mother. You assumed he was irritated because he hadn't found a girl.

Sixteen came with a vengeance and your body filled out in the right places - leftover baby fat giving way to muscle and messy brunette hair taming itself for once. You learned how to strut with Steve by your side because you couldn't help but feel pride deep down in your bones that this amazing creature chose _you._ You dragged him everywhere - to see a film, on rides at Coney Island, to conventions and fairs. He protested but you promised to make it worth his while; bribed him with frozen custard, a trip to the library, anything he wanted to do. This is not to say you didn't have spats with neither of you refusing to back down - they were few and far in between but the topic was almost always the same; Steve and his inability to see in himself what you have always saw. Sometimes you felt like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he understood exactly how incredible he was. You could not imagine a life without him in it.

You were nineteen when you had your first serious relationship. Her name was Cindy and she was a petite blonde with freckles trailing across her cheekbones and nose - she liked Steve well enough and for two months you almost convinced yourself that you'd found the one. She talked to Steve about his sketches and her big dreams (she wanted to be a reporter some day) and didn't mind the fact that you tugged Steve with you most of the time. There wasn't a thing about her that was wrong and yet it didn't last. In the end you'd been the one to break it off and Steve had lectured you for it and said you'd wasted an opportunity at happiness because _she_ was your right partner. You did not tell him that your heart had decided long ago that _he_ was that person.

The March that you turned twenty years old, Steve pushed you away. His mother had passed in her sleep after a long and turmoilous struggle with tuberculosis and he'd slipped into self defense mode. He'd convinced himself that the less people in his life the better because it hurt something awful when he lost someone. He did not say this out loud; didn't have to. You knew him well enough to read him like a book. You knew him better than you knew yourself, for that matter you loved him more than you'd ever loved yourself. On the stoop of his mother's apartment you passed him a door key and your entire future. It was his, always had been. You nearly lost it when he stared back with guarded baby blue's and so you shook him gently; held onto his shoulder as if he were the only thing anchoring you to this life and he was. He'd moved in within the following days and your world seemed complete once more. It was filled with rushed breakfasts' together on the weekdays, lounging around on the sofa with him on any given day that you were both home, antiseptic and rubbing alcohol, touching him in any way you could without him suspecting and throwing in a friendly 'pal' or 'man' when it nearly crossed the line, bumping shoulders on the way to meet dates, coming home after and cheering Steve up with an arm around his shoulders and a chipper reassurance that he'd find the right dame someday, you were sure of it. It did not last. 

The war came rolling in like an armored tank with your name on the front in flashing lights and the words 'You will not make it back home to him.' You did not find out about your orders to ship out to Europe until the night before and your heart hit the floor. You felt like pleading for three more days, just three more. Instead you left with a nod and salute, all starched uniform and hat tilted to the side so that you felt like more than just a suit - newspaper tucked under your arm and a million emotions at once boiling in your veins. You released that fury onto a bully much larger than you when he hurt Steve. Kicked him with more force than necessary and glared at him with gritted teeth - nearly frothed at the mouth. Steve was  _your_ person and God help anyone who touched him. Steve did not know this - you hid it well. He also only saw your sadness for half a second before you reeled it in and put on the smile that you saved for dates, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him against your side as hard as you could when he realized you were leaving. He looked the way you felt - as if someone had sucker punched you right in the heart, where it hurt the most. You left that night with eyes full of tears and a desperate clinging hug that never felt like enough. You took the girls dancing, skipped out an hour early and returned to an empty apartment that had reminders of him and happier times everywhere - spent the night with half a bottle of Jack Daniels and alarm clock set for five a.m. 

When you next saw Steve he was not the beloved skinny kid you'd guarded as if he were a rare treasure (and he still was) - he was muscles where thin arms used to be, pale chest wider than you remembered and heart beating steadily rather than irregularly. And yet when you saw him for the first time in over a year he was the most beautiful sight as he dragged you off of Hydra's table and cupped your cheek gently - you knew those big worried eyes. You would know them in a crowded room, in the life after this. You would know them anywhere. With the elation of certain death behind the two of you and shock running through your body you did something you'd later beat yourself up for. You turned just as he did (his arm around your bruised and aching waist, your left arm curved around his much stronger one; the other resting on his chest; against his heart) and pressed your dry chapped lips to his soft full ones. Something inside of you burst into light - something you'd hoped the military would've drilled out of you. He'd pulled back with wide eyes and gaping mouth before leaning forward and returning the kiss as the building around you rumbled and threatened to completely collapse. It was not the type of kiss you'd dreamed about for too many years - no slick mouths and roaming hands. It was slow and apologetic - it was pulling away and falling back together again. It was over too soon. You'd spend the rest of the walk back to base replaying it over and over in your head and refusing to acknowledge it because such a precarious and fragile thing would surely shatter if mentioned and you couldn't handle it if he had regrets.

There were touches after that - tiny but purposeful. A hand at the small of your back, warm eyes with _so much_ love reflecting back at you, fingers brushing in passing, his inability to leave you - the signs were written in a well lit path that had always led to him. It did not last - in the last stretch back to base someone mentioned Agent Carter in passing and Steve had blushed and stared at anything but you. He did not elaborate nor deny. You began to distance yourself then; falling behind him rather than beside, speaking less and less and citing it as fatigue, choosing to remain in your tent alone more often than not knowing that he was with her and wondering if you even had anything left to salvage. But Steve Rogers was worth fighting for and you'd been doing that your whole life. You allowed him to tug you along to a dusty bar where you drank your feelings away (only it ended up the opposite) and didn't have the energy to hide anymore. You let him see it - the pain, the nearly incapacitating craving for Brooklyn and a little guy who made your heart do backflips, the love. You'd almost convinced yourself that telling him was the right thing to do, when she walked in all stunning red dress and plunging neckline. You'd been childish then, spiteful even, as you went out of your way to check her out and make _her_ uncomfortable because dammit you were here _first._ When she'd walked away you felt exposed and gutted - Steve did not know how you'd been in love with him for what felt like forever but she did. You'd spent the remainder of the night trying to pick apart exactly how much she saw and Steve hadn't trailed after her. This surprised you the most and you considered it a victory.

He was yours for at least three months and you'd cherished every moment but kept him at arms length. Her picture in his compass told you everything and you knew when you were defeated. Regardless of where he went in life you would be with him - you'd made that vow and meant every word. He might not be yours anymore but whether he knew it or not _you_ were his. The nights were filled with drunken singing by the other men and sidelong glances at one another, the days were spent fighting Hydra and destroying bases as if they were paper dolls. You had not recovered fully from Hydra's experiments and sometimes the painful reminder that Steve was no longer yours hit you out of nowhere but for the most part you were happy because you had _him._ That made everything worthwhile. When Agent Carter would come up in discussion you would change the subject to an embarrassing story of Steve from back home or walk away altogether and truthfully you were running out of excuses. When Steve called you out on it you did what you were best at - you faked it and lied. He bought it because he needed to believe you were happy for him and that you weren't coming undone mentally. You lost him. You lost yourself. These things happen.

You came back wrong and his face was nothing more than a fuzzy but mostly blank slate that caused you torture and pain whenever asked about. You associated this blonde beauty with unspeakable horror and yet, as you held onto a beam on a collapsing helicarrier you recalled soft lips and baby blue eyes - two memories meshed together with your voice vowing to be with him until the end of the line and you couldn't let him die. It would take you two years, countless stolen meals, endless piled up Hydra bodies and three trips to the Smithsonian to piece together why that was. You recalled then that he was the bright spot in your memories - the one that made the others blur against its brilliance. He was a painful longing that spanned decades. He was your salvation and a man you loved more than life itself. Because of this you let him and a man you vaguely recognized as a threat (though not anymore because if he was worthy of Steve Rogers then he was a good man) find you.

It would be four months before you allowed yourself to truly love him out loud. It would begin quietly, delicately like the flutter of a butterflies wings.

 

**[May 2015]**

_"_ Steve this is ridiculous. Bingo is a kids game. I don't know if you've noticed but we're kind of old." 

Steve is sitting in their shared apartment with a goofy grin on his face as he places yet another marker on his playing card.

_I'll never get tired of that._

"You're just mad because I beat you again. Six games." 

_You **have** won five games in a roll but no. _

"Five," Bucky corrects as he examines his mostly bare playing card. 

He pulls his hair back with an elastic and reclines in his chair - it's worth it to see Steve happy and watching his competitive side come out.

"Don't be a sore loser Buck," he teases.

Bucky sighs dramatically though he's not annoyed in the least. It does bother him how much he enjoys hearing his name ( _his_ name that Hydra had once taken) on Steve's lips; keeps waiting to wake up one day to find that Steve has moved on and decided that his past should remain firmly glued in place. He remembers losing him to Agent Carter and then again when his body careened toward the earth with arms outstretched and forever reaching for _him._ That was what his life came down to - trying to hold on to Steve Rogers.

"B-5," Steve calls out as he places a marker on his card.

Bucky grins as he actually has that one. Steve peeks over at his card - "You're really going to beat me now."

Bucky pushes his shoulder gently as he used to when they were children and way beyond that. Steve laughs and it's worth every painful minute of unearthing buried memories.

"D-2."

Steve's forehead crinkles when he realizes that he doesn't have that one.

"Got one over on you," Bucky teases as he slips a marker over the number on his card.

"It's not over yet," Steve retorts. "A-1"

His leg brushes up against Bucky's under the table and he makes no move to jerk away. Instead he stretches it out alongside Bucky's until it's pressed skin against skin. Bucky's heart races in his chest and he tells himself that this is Steve and he means nothing by it just as he meant nothing by returning that kiss...- _Oh. That's a memory I hadn't found yet._

He freezes in place and brings a metal finger to his lips as his body recalls what took his mind too long to remember. An exploding facility, a wild and urgent need to make Steve understand how grateful and how painfully in love he was, a tender kiss that mended his broken pieces, the bitter feeling of regret. 

"Buck? What's wrong?"

Steve gently touches Bucky's arm and he's too warm, too welcoming. Bucky flinches and moves his leg away.

"I'm tired is all."

The clock on the stove reads 7:30pm and Steve seems genuinely disappointed but he nods and pushes away from the table, silently collects the playing cards and markers - stuffs them into a box before turning and giving Bucky the fakest smile he has ever seen as if Bucky doesn't have every one of his smiles committed to memory.

_What did I say?_

"Night Buck," he says quietly and keeps himself at arms length. 

Bucky feels like screaming as feelings claw their way to the surface - they're nothing new but it doesn't make them any less painful. Steve will never be his.

"Goodnight Steve."

With that he hides out in his room and listens to the muffled sound of the television and Steve talking on the phone - presumably to Sam. Bucky doesn't mind him.

 

*********

The next morning he convinces himself to confess mostly because he wonders if there are parts to that particular recollection that he can't find. Steve is leaning against the counter with mug in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other.

_You really should buy some clothes that fit better or...something. That gray shirt is vulgar and gives me thoughts that I shouldn't be having, keeps me awake at night._

Bucky pulls a chair out and takes the salt shaker in hand - anything to manipulate because his mind is going a mile a minute and it's competing with his heart to see which will force the words out first. 

"I remembered something."

Steve perks up and places the paper on the counter - crosses to the table and sits across from him as if it's vital information.

_Don't do that. Don't act like I'm the best thing in your life when you know its always been the other way around._

"The building was exploding and you...you came for me." 

Steve's eyes well up and his face softens but he does not cry.

"That was in 1944," he confirms.

"Did you ever marry that girl?," Bucky asks and puts on a charming grin - one that hasn't fit in ages.

"Peggy? No."

He does not elaborate.

Bucky nods - considers this. He recalls Sam telling him about Steve's decision to crash land a jet into icecaps shortly after his own fall and how he had been dead to the world for over seventy years. He'd shrugged it off as Steve trying to be a big hero and having a heart that was too big for his body. Bucky knew that better than anyone. He also knew Steve enough to know that if there was a chance of survival he would've fought until his lungs gave out - he'd never been afraid of death but he had a strong will to survive.

"What else do you remember?," Steve prods as he watches the salt shaker twirl on the table in Bucky's fingers.

_Kissing you._

"We walked back to base and I think maybe I passed out a few times."

"Two, yes."

_Why is that worth remembering, Steve?_

"Went to the medic tent and they asked me all kinds of personal questions and I don't think there was an inch of my body that they didn't touch."

_I hated it._

"I should've been there," Steve replies as he stares at the wall behind Bucky's head. 

_Carter needed you for something as usual but that's okay. I understand. She loved you - who wouldn't?_

"There was no reason to be - nothing but routine stuff is all." 

Steve glances up and his eyes are nothing but regret and pain.

"Besides I think you would've ran that pretty nurse away," Bucky jokes.

_Didn't have any interest in her anyway._

This makes Steve smile as he shakes his head.

Bucky's grin fades when Steve isn't paying attention - _I hate that I'm such a coward._

"Is there anything else?," Steve questions and he seems as high strung as Bucky feels right now. 

_I know what you're hinting at._

"It's nothing huge but..." he cannot bring himself to finish. He places the salt shaker on the table and rubs his eyes wearily. 

Steve pulls them away and leans in close with his hands still clutching Bucky's - "Tell me."

"Why?"

"Maybe I want to remember it too."

_Bullshit. You already know and you're a terrible liar._

"I did something stupid," Bucky says with a heavy sigh. 

_I put myself out there and got my heart broken._

"No you didn't," Steve counters. 

"Trust me, you don't wanna know."

He frees his hands and crosses his arms. Steve doesn't budge. 

"You kissed me," Steve blurts out without an ounce of regret. 

Bucky's heart kicks painfully in his chest as he tightens the grip he has on his forearms as if curling in on himself might help.

_Huge mistake._

"I'm sorry. It's long overdue but I shouldn't have..." 

_I apologize for ever wanting you bad enough to reach out and take you._

"There's no need for you to apologize, Buck."

_I get it. You've already forgiven me - why wouldn't you? You'd forgive a man for shooting you in the chest if he said the right words because you're a good person.  
_

When Bucky says nothing, Steve trudges on. "Dammit Bucky I wanted you to." 

This causes Bucky's eyes to snap to attention - "What?"

_I didn't hear that...did I?_

"You heard me.I kissed you back didn't I?" 

"Yes."

The kitchen suddenly feels hot and Bucky's skin is heating up and at this point he's sure he could double as a furnace. He runs his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath.

Steve gets out of his chair and kneels down beside of him - eyes full of an innocence that feels like _home._

"God. I can't believe I'm finally saying this but...I've always wanted you, Buck." 

_No. No this wrong. You've wanted everyone but me. I was never the right partner for you. You said so yourself - 'I just want one woman. I'm waiting for the right partner' and I was there all along yet you didn't..._

"You couldn't have. You always said you were waiting to find the right partner."

_Peggy._

Steve laughs and props his head up against Bucky's knee.

"Yes and he was too busy chasing after girls."

_Only to convince myself that I didn't crave you like the stars crave moonlight when it's dark._

"Yeah well." 

"Is that it?," Steve raises his eyebrows and has the goofiest grin on his face. "I tell you I've been waiting for you for decades and that's what you-,"

Bucky cuts him off with the lightest brush of his lips against Steve's and he wants more than he has ever wanted anything in this life. Steve gives him the same deer in the headlights look as he did back in '44 before burying his fingers in Bucky's hair and simply holding him there with noses brushing and ragged hot breath mixing together. Bucky wraps a hand around his neck and one on his heart (that's rapidly pounding under his palm) before leaning in the rest of the way and recalling soft pink lips and the taste of sweat and tears in the midst of hell and chaos only this is different, better. He takes his time and explores - licks into Steve's mouth and makes him groan with pleasure ( _Note to self: make him make that sound again and again)_ , caresses his neck and trails his hands under Steve's shirt _(Bless this obscenely tight shirt)_ over his ribs and the top of his hips where they meet the grooves of his jeans. He half expects delicate pale skin covering bone and making him wonder what it would be like to taste porcelain - a part of him misses that he let that chance slip by but another part of him is grateful because this is  _his_ Steve and he's touching him like he wants to take him apart in the best of ways.

Life really doesn't get any better than this.

Just then the doorbell rings and they break apart, panting and flushed. There's no way they can hide the visible proof of what they'd been up to.

"Who is it?," Bucky whispers as he drags Steve back in and sucks a purple bruise against his neck.

Steve moans - "It's...it's probably Nat. She's supposed to drop off some things."

Bucky groans against his skin and reluctantly moves away, gestures to the door. Steve adjusts his pants (much to Bucky's enjoyment - _**I** made him that excited) _ and Natasha lets herself into the apartment.

Bucky gives her a tiny wave and sits down at the kitchen table - scoots as far in as he can.

"What kind of trouble are you boys getting into today?," she asks as she drops a plastic bag on the kitchen counter.

Steve quickly distracts himself with the contents - a pile of gadgets that Tony wanted him to check out.

"The usual," Steve mumbles.

Bucky shrugs in agreement.

She raises an eyebrow at Steve - "You're a terrible liar."

_Isn't he though?_

"Always has been," Bucky replies.

"I'm willing to bet that you are too," she eyes Bucky and it makes him uncomfortable; as if she can see straight through him.

"I've gotta hit the road. Congrats on finally breaking the ice," she heads toward the front door and smirks before letting herself out.

Steve has his best poker face on as he continues staring at the door after she's gone.

"How did she know?," Bucky questions.

"She's Nat, she knows everything," Steve pushes aside the gadgets and casual as he can, takes Bucky by the hand and leads him to the living room - makes sure to lock the door. 

"Where were we?" 

_That's sexier than you've any right to be._

"Think we left off here," Bucky gives Steve a quick kiss and grins against his lips. Steve can't help but smile back as he sinks his teeth into Bucky's lower lip.

"We left off there in '44 Buck." 

Bucky hums and thinks that Steve is much heavier than he used to be (he's not ashamed to admit that back at their tiny apartment in Brooklyn in '41 he might've pretended to be more drunk than he was at times and grabbed hold of narrow hipbones - held Steve against his chest until he fell asleep even as Steve protested which wasn't as much as he should've). 

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes and you have made it home from the war.

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by bucky mooning over steve in nearly every scene http://givemebackmybucky.tumblr.com/post/129617552692/look-at-how-damn-proud-bucky-is-to-have-steve-at


End file.
